sometimes the hood bleeds truth

when the blinds forge our rental
into stolid zebras of quietness-

(here there is amnesia of wit,

the sardonic is a way of life
not envisioned by the Tao
or mastered by the acolyte)

in a copse of cast green slats,
copper oxidized by haste:

each dusky rustle is counted
in the evening's spooky hustle.

(fear dances in a sparkle on the trunk:

not a hallow of choice that motors
through these loose leafy cages
meant to hold a moment of spring,
approved by the shade tree commission,
and now defunct except for refuse)

when the blinds forge our rental
into stolid zebras of quietness:

I gently brush your hair aside
and briefly kiss your neck.